Remember

by Karen Kingsbury; Karen Kingsbury

Belinda rolled her eyes in Irvel’s direction. “Make it quick.”

  “Well”—Irvel smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress—“we were chatting. Getting to know each other.”

  “Look, Irvel.” A chortle worked its way up Belinda’s throat, and she gave that old woman a sardonic smile. “If you girls don’t know each other by now, you might as well stop trying.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Irvel swallowed, looking to Ashley for help. “Hank dropped me off an hour ago, and the girls and I were going to visit. Maybe have some peppermint tea.”

  “That’s right.” Ashley stood and began clearing dishes from the table. From her spot by the kitchen sink—out of view from Irvel—Ashley shot a look at Belinda. “No harm in taking a few minutes to visit.” Her voice remained kind, but she made sure her eyes got the point across. “Is there?”

  “Yes.” Irvel’s voice regained some of her earlier confidence. Ashley returned to the dining room and anchored herself protectively near Irvel. The woman reached up and took hold of Ashley’s hand. “Visiting is nice. At least until Hank comes to get me.” Irvel smiled at Belinda. “Isn’t this girl’s hair beautiful? I’ve never seen such beautiful hair.”

  “That’s it.” Belinda marched toward them and forced Irvel’s chair back from the table. Then she lowered her face so it was inches from Irvel’s. “Hank’s dead, Irvel. Fifteen years now. You live with these other old folks in an adult care home for people with Alzheimer’s disease.” Her tone was loud and rude, as though she were talking to a troublesome five-year-old.

  Ashley was too shocked to do anything but watch.

  Belinda grabbed a quick breath. “There’s not a tea bag in the house, and there never has been. There’ll be no getting to know each other, and Hank will never come back for you. He’s dead. It’s bath time, so don’t say another word. Get your cane and follow me.”

  “Y-y-yes, madam.” Irvel’s shoulders began to shake as Belinda turned and slouched down the hallway.

  “Oh, Irvel.” Ashley came alongside her and saw tears on the old woman’s soft, wrinkled cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  “I n-n-need a bath.” Irvel struggled to her feet with Ashley’s help.

  Around the table there was silence. Edith had set down her fork and leaned against the back of her chair. Her eyes were closed, but her head made a subtle nodding motion, and her lips moved in a repetitive pattern. When Ashley bent closer, she could hear Edith’s voice, the quietest whisper, saying, “No . . . no . . . no . . . no . . .”

  “Edith, are you okay?” Ashley took a few steps toward the quiet woman.

  “Bath.” She pushed herself back from the table, struggled to her feet, and inched her way toward the bathroom. “I need a bath . . . need a bath. . . .”

  Ashley, Irvel, and Helen watched her go.

  “The madam always upsets Edith.” Irvel clucked her tongue. “Poor Edith.”

  “I told you.” Helen gripped her elbows, her brow marked by deep rivers of concern. “That woman’s a spy. She’s always been a spy.”

  Suddenly the air was pierced by the loudest, shrillest scream Ashley had ever heard. It came from the bathroom where Edith was supposed to be waiting for someone to help her with her bath.

  Ashley raced around the corner as another of Lu’s warnings came back. “Edith’s a screamer. No one knows why.”

  Rounding another wall, Ashley ran into the bathroom, where Edith was standing frozen in place, eyes wide, mouth locked open, screaming as though she’d witnessed a murder.

  “Edith . . . Edith, it’s okay.”

  The woman’s arms and legs were as rigid as steel beams. Before Ashley could make any further attempts to calm the woman, Belinda shoved her way into the bathroom and shouted at Ashley, “Edith’s not to take a bath alone. Didn’t Lu tell you?”

  It was impossible to talk above the sounds of Edith’s screams. Before Ashley could think what to do next, Belinda positioned herself behind Edith and forcibly guided her down a hallway into a bedroom.

  Ashley watched them go, horrified. Was this how people died—afraid and alone? humiliated? She made her way back to the dining room, barely aware of her steps. Irvel and Helen hadn’t moved, and now they were both silent, their eyes filled with terror. Within three minutes, Edith’s screaming stopped, and Belinda pounded her way past them toward the other bathroom, mumbling something about incompetence, her face a twist of angry knots.

  “She’s a spy,” Helen hissed.

  Ashley had no idea what to do or where to start. She wanted to check on Edith, but Irvel and Helen needed her too. Was this how Belinda always treated these people? With angry hostility and no respect? Shouting at the poor dears and ordering them about? If so, Ashley would have to do something about it.

  “Irvel!” Belinda’s voice boomed from down the hallway. “Get in here. Your bath’s ready.”

  Irvel slid her feet forward, first one, then the other, while Ashley walked helplessly at her side. She was too new to change the routine. Besides, Belinda was in charge, and she’d already made it plain that if Ashley didn’t follow protocol she’d get fired. Now, after spending time with Irvel and Edith and Helen, Ashley was more certain than ever that she wanted to stay and help, wanted to let them work on her heart and make it tender again.

  Halfway up the hallway, Irvel stopped. “Hank’s . . . not really gone.” She made a slow turn and faced Ashley. “Is he?”

  Irvel’s eyes begged for the answer she wanted to hear. For a moment Ashley said nothing, not wanting to make things worse. Then an image came to mind of Landon lying in the hospital bed, telling her he was moving to New York City. She wouldn’t see him again—not for a year at least, and maybe not forever. But that didn’t change the way she loved him.

  “No, Irvel.” The image of Landon faded, and Ashley used gentle hands to take hold of Irvel’s shoulders. “As long as you love him, he’s never really gone.”

  “I love Hank.” Irvel’s words were slow, deliberate, the emotion in her eyes so raw it almost hurt to look at. “You don’t know how much I love him.”

  “Well, then . . .” Ashley’s voice was thick, and she felt the sting of tears. “. . . he isn’t gone, is he?”

  “No.” Irvel straightened a bit and shook her head. A smile steeped in gratitude forged its way up her sagging cheeks. “He isn’t gone at all. He’s fishing . . . just like always.”

  They heard a sharp sound. “Irvel?” Belinda’s voice echoed off the plasterboard walls, and the fragile old woman jumped.

  Ashley winked at Irvel and yelled ahead in a pleasant voice, “She’s coming.” It would be pointless to argue with Belinda now. It would only make Irvel and her friends more upset.

  Irvel brought her head close to Ashley’s, her voice a whisper. “You’re very kind, dear. I truly hope we can have tea sometime.” Irvel took a few more steps and stopped. She raised a single finger and pointed at Ashley. “You know something? You have the most beautiful hair. . . .”

  Ashley spent the rest of the day with various other tasks. She oversaw lunch and helped the women to their chairs for an afternoon nap. She checked on Laura Jo and Edith, but they were both sleeping. On Belinda’s desk in the office, next to Edith’s file, Ashley noticed a bottle of medication. Sedatives—obviously Belinda’s way of getting Edith to stop screaming.

  Several times she looked in on Bert. Lu was right. When he wasn’t eating or napping, he was circling—round and round and round the bed, rubbing out the wrinkles in the comforter with meticulous care.

  “Bert?” Ashley came to him and touched his arm. “Bert, my name is Ashley. I’m new.”

  Bert said nothing. He neither stopped nor looked up. Instead, he maneuvered himself awkwardly past Ashley, his hands moving in constant circles all the while.

  “Okay then, Bert. I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.”

  On her way out, Ashley noticed a framed black-and-white photo on Bert’s dresser. It was a picture of a handsome, strapping man and a striking young woman,
side by side on horseback. Ashley glanced over her shoulder at Bert, still making his way around the bed. “I’m here for you, Bert. Call if you need me.”

  Late that afternoon, Irvel’s niece came by. Lu had explained about the regular visitors, and Irvel’s niece was one of them. She came every Monday afternoon and read the Bible out loud to her aunt. When she was finished, they would recite the Twenty-third Psalm together and then sing Irvel’s favorite hymn.

  Ashley peeked in and watched the scene from the hallway. The two women were arm in arm, singing in a way that was far from perfect but much more beautiful. “Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness. . . .”

  The song built and then came to a close. Irvel was polite and enjoyed the company, but clearly she didn’t recognize her niece. She remembered almost nothing about her life except a few choice things: her name, her Hank, her favorite hymn.

  And every single word of the Twenty-third Psalm.

  When her niece left, Irvel hugged her and smiled. “I’m Irvel, dear. So nice to meet you. We should have tea sometime. Peppermint tea.”

  “I love you, Aunt Irvel,” the woman told her. “Jesus loves you too.”

  “Yes, dear.” Irvel’s eyes twinkled as if she were twenty years old again. “The Lord is my shepherd. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  On the way home from work, Ashley couldn’t stop thinking about the old woman and her sweet way of welcoming those around her. Before picking up Cole from her parents’ house, where he stayed while she worked, she stopped and bought the one thing Sunset Hills Adult Care Home absolutely could not do another day without.

  A box of peppermint tea bags.

  Chapter Ten

  You reap what you sow.

  That was the only way Luke Baxter could make sense of how good his life had become recently. Not just at school and at church, but with Reagan—with her most of all.

  They were thirty thousand feet up in the air and headed for New York City. The trip had been Reagan’s idea—a chance to spend a week together before school started and to meet her parents at the same time. Luke cast a glance at his girlfriend, sleeping with her head against the window, and silently sent a prayer of thanks to God for her. Reagan was everything he’d ever wanted in a girl. Everything.

  She had legs that went on forever and long, golden hair. More than once, people had commented that she looked like a taller, longer-legged Anna Kournikova, the beautiful tennis pro. Luke thought they were wrong. Reagan was far more beautiful than Kournikova. He was six feet two, and Reagan was six feet with heels. She attracted attention everywhere she went. And on top of that she was funny and sweet, and she loved a good softball game. Most important, she was committed to God, just like Luke. Everyone agreed she was perfect for him. He thought so too.

  Reagan stirred and sat up straighter in the seat. “What time is it?”

  “Almost one. Another half hour and we’ll be there.”

  “Good.” She snuggled against his shoulder, her voice sleepy. “I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

  “You’re sure they’ll like me?”

  “Silly.” She gave him a grin and tapped the end of his nose with her finger. “What’s not to like?”

  She drifted off again, and Luke thought about what she’d said. That was it, wasn’t it? He’d tried to live his entire life in a way that honored God. And as a result, his life was turning out just the way it should.

  Not like Ashley, who’d run off to Paris and gotten pregnant—and who knew what else?—before dragging herself back home. She’d been raised with the same morals, the same beliefs that he had. But she’d thrown them all away, and her life had been a mess ever since. Even worse, her choices had shamed the family.

  And what about Tim, Kari’s husband, who’d not only cheated on her but actually moved in with one of his students? He had not only disgraced the family; he’d been killed in the process! Before then, of course, Tim had come home and tried to make things work with Kari, and Luke supposed that was a good thing. But why hadn’t Kari avoided Tim in the first place? The guy had been all wrong for her, too old and academic. Especially when a guy as wonderful as Ryan Taylor had loved her all her life.

  Luke leaned back in the seat. He still wasn’t sure what he thought about Tim’s murder. It had been tragic, of course. But in the end Tim had reaped what he sowed too. Luke couldn’t help but think that Kari was better off now, no matter how hard it had been.

  Luke yawned.

  Sometimes when he thought about things this way, he wondered if he was being heartless or judgmental. Ashley certainly thought he was. But that wasn’t it, not really. It was just that he cared about obeying God and doing the right thing. Upholding the honor of his family. And it bugged him when people in his own family just didn’t bother.

  Not that he was perfect. He knew he was a sinner—everyone was. But he’d tried hard to live the way he should, the way he’d been raised. He prayed. He went to church. He’d always made a point of not drinking or partying and had done his best to avoid situations with girls who were too tempting. He felt he owed it to God and to his family. To himself, for that matter.

  And now all his efforts were paying off—that was clear. He was reaping what he had sown.

  This trip to New York was just one more bit of evidence.

  * * *

  Luke felt as if he were flying—the view from the eighty-ninth floor of the north tower of the World Trade Center was that amazing.

  Reagan’s father, Tom Decker, was giving the tour, with Luke and Reagan trailing a few feet behind him.

  “I can’t believe this,” Luke whispered to Reagan.

  She giggled, her own voice barely audible. “Wait till you see his office.”

  Reagan was right. Her father led the way into a wood-paneled room, and Luke had to catch himself to keep from gasping out loud. The view was beyond anything Luke could have imagined. But he didn’t want Mr. Decker thinking he was out of his element. After all, one day soon he’d have a degree of his own and an office much like this one. At least he figured he would.

  “This is something else, sir.” Luke moved to the window and stared down. Viewing the city from eighty-nine floors up was surreal, almost like looking down from an airplane.

  “I like it.” Mr. Decker grinned. “Most people are pretty shocked when they come up for the first time.”

  “I know I was.” Reagan looped her arm through her father’s. “The elevator ride alone is enough to make me queasy.”

  The phone on Mr. Decker’s desk rang, and for a moment he was caught in a conversation. Luke glanced at Reagan and raised his eyebrows. “Nice.” He mouthed the word, and she released her father’s arm and joined Luke near the window.

  She stared down, her forehead against the glass. “Looks like a postcard.”

  “I always thought I’d stay in Indiana.” He slid his hand a few inches down the windowsill so it was against hers. “But being here in New York—I don’t know. There’s something addicting about it. An excitement, an energy.” He caught her eye. “Like I won’t really have conquered the business world until I conquer it here.”

  Reagan grinned. “You’re kinda young to be conquering anything yet.”

  “Hey.” Luke nudged her with his elbow. “Give a guy a chance.”

  Behind them, Mr. Decker hung up the phone. “They need me down the hall for a quick meeting. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes if you can wait.” He tapped his watch. “I’d like to take you to the top for lunch if you have time.”

  “Sure.” Reagan lifted one shoulder. “We have all day, right?” She looked at Luke.

  “Right.”

  “And we’re seeing Riverdance tonight—is that what’s on the schedule?”

  “It is.” Reagan lowered her chin and gave Luke a warning look. “And no complaints from you guys, okay?”

  Luke stifled a grin and held his hands up. “Not me.”

  “Luke likes men in tights.” Mr. Decker gave him a light punch in th
e arm as he rounded his desk.

  “Especially Irish tights.”

  They could still hear Reagan’s father laughing as he closed his office door and headed down the hallway.

  Luke stared at Reagan. “Can you see it?”

  “What?” Her eyes danced. She leaned against the window, facing him.

  “Me. In an office like this.” He gestured to the oversized leather chair behind the desk. “Working right next to your dad.”

  “I guess.” A quiet ripple of laughter sounded on her lips. Luke closed the gap between them. She was so beautiful, and she seemed so happy spending this past week with her parents. In fact, these last few days with Reagan and her family had been enough to convince him.

  One day—maybe one day soon—he would ask Reagan to marry him. They could have such a wonderful life together, maybe right here in New York. And no matter what hard times might come, the life of faith they would share together would feel like nothing but blue skies and sunsets. Day after day, year after year.

  He wanted to kiss her, to take her in his arms and pull her close the way he’d longed to since they’d left Bloomington together. But her constant nearness was getting to him. If he wanted to keep his thoughts pure, they needed space between them—as often as possible, anyway. He backed up a few steps and fell into her father’s chair. Kicking his heels up on the corner of the desk, he linked his fingers behind his head and grinned at her. “Know what I want?”

  She rested her back against the window and angled her head. “A pair of Irish tights?”

  “After that.”

  This time she let her head fall back, gentle laughter spilling from her like a song. “Okay.” She caught her breath. “Tell me what.”

  “I want a position at the firm here . . . and an office down the hall from your father. That way”—he gave his voice a haughty sound—“I can support his daughter in the manner to which she has become accustomed.”

  Reagan batted her eyes. “Oh, yeah?”

  “It’s that or the glass slipper.” Luke grinned at her. They’d been dating for less than a year, and their discussions about forever were never very serious. But he was close to crossing the line here. “You know the score, Reagan. One way or another, I want you in my life.”